Page 37 of On One Condition

“Hi.”

I jump at the sound of the high-pitched voice behind me. When I turn, I’m met with a little girl about seven or eight—fuck if I know since kids aren’t exactly in my wheelhouse. She has a pair of uneven, blond pigtails, black-framed glasses over a freckled nose, a box in her hands, and jeans with holes in the knees.

She stands and stares expectantly at me as if she’s waiting for me to speak.

“Uh, hi.” I look around to see if her mom or dad are around. “Can I help you?”

She twists her lips and narrows her eyes for a beat. I’m being sized up by a kid. Fucking perfect.

“I brought you cookies,” she finally says, pushing the box toward me. “But I’m not sure if you like cookies because they are made with flour, chocolate, sugar, and real butter. You know, non-organic, gluten-filled crap.”

Stifling a chuckle, I take the box from her and lift the lid to look inside. Not bad. “I’m from New York. Not California. I like all that crap. Thanks.” I tip the box at her in a thank-you gesture, but she doesn’t get the hint and move out of the way.

“New York, huh?” Her hands go to her hips. “Exciting stuff. Is it true there are rats in the sewers the size of alligators there?”

“Probably. It’s the people you have to watch out for more than anything. They’re the real rats who will eat you alive.” Come on, kid. Move along.

“My mom told me you might be brusque and rude.”

I do a double take. “She did? Why’s that?”

“She said you wear a suit, are from the city, and probably don’t have a personality worth talking to as a result of having the life sucked out of you from sitting behind the glass walls of a skyscraper all day.”

I cough over my laugh. “But you’re talking to me, right?”

“I am . . . but I haven’t decided if I like you yet.”

“Good to know.” This kid is pretty spectacular. She’d fit in perfectly in Manhattan.

“Apparently the clean air we have here, plus getting a little dirt on your shoes, will make you nicer. Maybe.” We both glance down at my shoes. “No dirt.”

“I guess I’m still rude, then.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” she whispers and offers me a grin with a missing front tooth.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“I’m Tootie.”

“Tootie?”

“Yep. It’s short for Trudy because who names a kid Trudy these days? So I made up my own version of it that suits me better.”

I feel like I’m talking to a thirty-year-old with her matter-of-fact statements, but that little giggle she gives reaffirms I’m not. “I think Tootie fits you perfectly.” I smile at her. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get some work done.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks as I step past her.

“Excuse me?”

“You know, a woman that comes over and then sneaks out about the time that school starts, and Mom tells me not to stare at her or ask why she’s not wearing any shoes.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“If I can’t say fuck, then you can’t say Jesus Christ.”

I open my mouth to speak but am at a loss for words as I glance around again for any parent concerned where their child is. “Um, Tootie? Does your mom know where you are? Shouldn’t you be doing homework or something?”

“First, homework is a thing of the past. Some brilliant person declared it to be busy work and decided to free us kids from its shackles.” She flashes a grin. “And second, Mom is inside on the phone telling all of her friends about you.”